April's Fools- a reduxl
by MLaw
Summary: It's April first, that is April Fools' Day and hijinks abound at the New York Headquarters. Napoleon is at it again. Reworked and reposing in honor of the day.


It was April 1st, the day anyone working in U.N.C.L.E. headquarters in New York dreaded. There was an inner core of personnel who prided themselves on playing pranks and practical jokes, the worst and most devious among them was Napoleon Solo. He had a wicked sense of humor and being the master tactician that he was, he could get the best of anyone.

Alexander Waverly tolerated it, having recalled in his youth in Scotland, the day being celebrated as _Hunt-the-Gowk  
Day_. The "gowk", Scottish for a cuckoo or more precisely a foolish person was pranked by being asked to to deliver a  
sealed message requesting help of some sort.

The message actually read _"Dinna laugh, dinna smile. Hunt the gowk another mile"._  
The recipient, upon reading it, would explain he could only help if he first contacts another person,and sends  
the victim to this person with an identical message, with the same result.

A little bit of foolery amongst his agents was a good thing and helped to relieve the tension of their lifestyle.

Illya Kuryakin's view of the day was more serious, befitting his sometimes dour Russian disposition. Back home their  
version of April Fools daywas related to the ancient Slavic tradition of going out to scare the winter away.

People dressed up in animal skins, wore masks and staged noisy presentations that resulted in a great deal of laughter as  
people made fools of themselves. The actual April Fool's Day was first introduced by Peter the Ist and even the  
humorless Communists dared not do away with the holiday, even though it was an unofficial one.

To mark April 1st in Russia it meant filling the day with positive emotions and thoughts for the upcoming year. This  
was important business, but still practical jokes abounded. The joke could be kind, funny and even extreme, but  
most importantly was that it had to end in laughter and hopefully tears of joy. In Russia other events were organized  
to mark the day, with various comedy shows and concerts performed for the public.

Illya realized that sort of celebration was not in line here with the way things were done in America, and preferred  
to sit back and watch the practical jokes as they unfolded instead of partaking. For years his partner had tried to get  
him, but without success. Napoleon though a master of manipulation would not be permitted to succeed and beat him.  
The the wily Russian would see to that, _again._

He left his office heading for the commissary, spotting remnants of pranks...empty cans of peanuts with coiled springs  
inside that jumped out at the unsuspecting person thinking they had just been offered a little snack. Rubber vomit,  
plastic dog dung placed in strategic places in the corridors, guppies swimming in the bottled water cooler, along with  
numerous other pranks. He overheard someone complaining about their long, handwritten report had faded right  
before their eyes...disappearing ink having been put into their pens.

"Oh nooooo," Wanda moaned," Napoleon! He's going to pay for this!" Her backside had two distinctive white hand  
prints on it, bringing snickers to people who passed her by, until someone finally told her she had been pranked.

Upon entering the Commissary, Tillie Pederson-Rhys, lllya's friend and the person in charge of feeding all of  
headquarters screamed at the top of her lungs when she ladled out of the of the split pea and ham soup she had  
prepared, what appeared to be something in the shape of a mouse.

Illya rushed to her side and after calming her, he showed her that it was only made of rubber, a simple cat toy,  
obviously put there as a joke.

"That Napoleon, I swear I'm going to get him!" She finally laughed in relief that her soup had not been ruined.

"Tille my dear, I fear you are a member of a very large club," he told her as he took a bowl for his lunch, with a large  
slice of buttered rye bread on the side. He headed to the back corner of the room to his usual table and chair that  
awaited him.

Checking the salt and pepper chambers, ensuring the caps were on tightly, he used them to flavor his meal. Upon  
examination his utensils seemed clean, but he wiped them again just to be on the safe side. His cautious behaviour  
had prevented his partner from pranking him without success and he sought to keep his track record intact.

The soup was delicious, and Illya decided upon a second helping and as he stood up...or tried to stand up, he found  
himself stuck to his chair. The only way he could rise was to hunch over, while holding onto the seat of the chair, lest  
the weight of it tear his trousers.

He lowered the chair back to the floor, realizing there was no way he could leave without creating some sort of spectacle  
and cursed under his breath at his dilemma. Napoleon had finally succeeded.

Illya spotted George Dennell, and motioned him over to the table.

"Hiya Illya how's it going?"

"Fine, everything is fine," he bluffed. "George I need a favor from you, I have forgotten something very important in  
my lab and need it, but I cannot leave here as I must meet with Napoleon...very important assignment to discuss.  
Would you be a friend and fetch what I need? "

"Sure Illya, a real important mission huh?"

"Yes George, top secret and what I need is vital to our plan. There is a bottle on the shelf above my work station that  
is marked 'ethanol'. If you could bring it...carry it carefully as it is not ethanol and is a little volatile. Can you do that  
for me?"

"Sure Illya I get it," George winked, then disappeared on his mission.

When he returned a short while later, carefully handing the bottle to Illya and watching as the Russian proceeded to  
pour the clear solution around his backside and on the seat of the chair. He began to wiggle his bottom, gently at  
first, increasing his movement until he was able to extricate himself from the chair.

The seat of his trousers were soaked with the ethanol, but his pants being black and partially covered by his suit  
jacket, it was unnoticeable to those around him as he stood. He was convinced Napoleon was watching the entire  
scene on a security camera.

He looked at his wristwatch. "Well looks like Napoleon is not going to make it," he said to a bewildered Dennell."Thank  
you for your help George." Illya left, returning to his office to change his clothes, and perhaps lock the door for the  
remainder of the afternoon.

"Well that was a bit of a let down." Mark Slate leaned over, whispering to his partner as they sat at the far side of the  
Commissary, giving them a bird's eye view of the Russian's dilemma. No one else there seemed to notice  
it, or if they had, they knew better than to acknowledge it as Illya was known at times for his crankiness.

"Figures he'd manage to get out of it," April sighed, "but the consolation prize will come later on, to be sure."

"Napoleon's been in that meeting with Waverly all day long, shame he's missing out on the fun this year." Mark said,  
then realized what he'd said was so wrong, muttering that it was nice not to be on the receiving end of Solo's April  
fool marathon.

"No dear, it's aptly called Poisson d'Avril today. " April smiled.

"April fish?"

"That's what they call it in France darling, I just thought I'd do some _fishing_ of my own this year...a little revenge  
against the _master_ for all his past transgressions." She smiled wickedly, delighting in her thoughts.

.

Napoleon Solo stepped into the corridor, heading to his office, feeling quite drained from the day long meeting. He  
looked at his watch, knowing the day for all intents and purposes was gone and frankly didn't have the energy to  
partake in his favorite past-time this day of the year.

"Oh well, there's always next year," he sighed

He turned the corner, and was met face to face by his partner and at least a dozen other people who were staring  
him down, not looking very happy. Actually they were looking more like an angry mini-mob.

"Hi, _miss_ me guys?" His smile changed quickly.

As the little mob moved toward him, fists shaking, Napoleon made a hasty retreat.

"See darling," April smiled," I told you there'd be a consolation prize."

"Remind my luv to never get on your bad side," Slate nodded.


End file.
